


Witch in Magic Armour

by writers_haven



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: DRAGONS!!, Fantasy, Humor, M/M, MAGIC!!, also hero jean wow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3894304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writers_haven/pseuds/writers_haven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess who loved tales of princesses and their knights. They detailed a world that he had never known, and he wanted to learn more. So, when he came across a law, buried deep in the castle library, that required every member of the royal family be married by the time they turn eighteen, he saw it as his chance to find true love."</p><p>All Princess Armin wanted was a fairytale romance, a happily ever after, a knight in shining armour. Things... didn't go quite as expected.</p><p>or</p><p>the one in which armin desperately wants a husband</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Quest Begins

**Author's Note:**

> fantasy au based on [this](http://emeraudolupus.tumblr.com/post/118363569852/witch-in-magic-armour-for-jearmin-reverse-bang) lovely piece of art by emeraudolupus! that particular scene doesn’t quite make it into the first chapter, though.

Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess, with golden hair and bright blue eyes and curiosity beyond compare about the world all around him. He wanted to know everything, but the outside world was dangerous, even within his father’s kingdom– and so all he learnt, he learnt through books.

For all the books the princess read about lands of sand, or mountains of ice, or of sea-unicorns, he also enjoyed tales of princesses and their knights. They were, perhaps, not quite as based in fact as the journals of past explorers, but they detailed a world that he had never known, and, as with anything he didn’t know about, he wanted to learn more.

So, when he came across a law, buried deep and likely forgotten in the castle library, that required every member of the royal family be married by the time they turn eighteen, he saw it as his chance to find true love.

To find his knight in shining armour.

\--

Erwin sighed. Of course his brilliant son had come up with this huge, unnecessary plan just to find a husband. Erwin had suggested throwing a ball, but _nooo_ , the kid wanted to be _locked away in a tower_ with a _dragon_ as security.

“Where are we even going to find a dragon?” Erwin asked, just to address the most absurd thing first. “If we had a dragon on hand, you know Sorceror Hanji would be all over it.”

Armin’s eyes sparkled. “That’s the thing,” he said excitedly. “They told me they’d recently figured out a spell allowing the user to _transform_ into a dragon!”

Erwin wasn’t sure if he was intrigued (because _shapeshifting_!) or despairing. “And who, exactly, are you planning to make into a dragon?”

“Eren, of course.”

“Of course,” Erwin repeated, already cringing at the damage Eren would probably cause in dragon form. The boy was earnest and well-meaning, but sometimes a little overzealous. Even _Levi_ had trouble controlling that one.

“So I can do it?” Armin asked, wide blue eyes staring at Erwin hopefully. Erwin had to hand it to him, he knew Erwin had a weakness for those pleading eyes, even after almost eighteen years, and shamelessly exploited it. He truly was Erwin’s son.

“If you were actually trapped in a tower guarded by a dragon, I have no doubt you’d be able to get out of it yourself,” Erwin said, because it was important.

“Yes, I know,” Armin agreed, because he was stubborn. (Erwin’s fault, really.)

“And you know I’m abolishing that law about marriage by eighteen, right?” Erwin had to add.

“This is the fifth time you’ve reminded me,” Armin replied pleasantly.

Well. Armin was old enough to make his own decisions. This one was, well, peculiar, but Armin could take care of himself, and human-Eren was already willing to move mountains to keep Armin safe, let alone dragon-Eren. The abandoned watchtower Armin had chosen was in a relatively safe area, some ways away from a small, unremarkable village. At least Armin had thought it through.

“Are you sure a ball won’t suffice?” Erwin tried, because he could still remember when Armin was tiny enough to nestle into the crook of his elbow, and now his baby was going to stay in a tower for God only knows how long with only a dragon for company.

Armin sighed. “I promise I’ll attend my birthday ball,” he said, though he sounded like he would rather not. “But if I don’t meet anyone there, I’m going ahead with this plan.”

Erwin chuckled. “Alright,” he agreed, ruffling Armin’s hair lightly. “Just… be careful, okay?”

Armin positively beamed. “I always am, Dad,” he promised, pressing a quick kiss to Erwin’s cheek before running off gleefully to make preparations.

Erwin’s nest suddenly felt very empty.

\--

Surprisingly, Sorceror Hanji was perfectly willing to help Armin out. “Sure,” they agreed readily, with a familiar manic glint in their eye, “if you let me run some experiments on dragon-Eren.”

Eren flinched. “Um,” he started to say.

“Deal,” Armin said, ignoring Eren’s splutter of protest.

Hanji grinned. “Great!” they chirped, rubbing their hands together gleefully. “Eren, do you have something like a ring, or a bracelet, something like that?”

“Well,” said Eren, throwing one last glare at Armin as he pulled the key he wore on a cord around his neck out from where it was hidden by his shirt, “I have this, is that al–”

Hanji snatched it up before Eren could finish his sentence. “Perfect,” they said, already turning away and carefully laying the key in the middle of a large, rather complex-looking magic circle, drawn on the stone floor with chalk. “Now, we’re going to need some… _interesting_ ingredients.”

“What do you mean by _interesting_?” Armin asked slowly, somewhat afraid.

Hanji’s grin was terrifying. “How do you boys feel about blood?”

Eren and Armin gulped.

\--

Two hours later, Armin and Eren stood watching as Hanji rattled off a long incantation that, frankly, all sounded like one word. Eren looked tired and spacey, like his attention was more on a warm bath and his bed than Hanji’s spell– and Armin found himself wishing the same. Ordinarily, Armin would have found the magic fascinating– and it still was, kind of, but oddly enough, Armin was far less interested when he was dripping with slime and had crusted blood of several different animals under his fingernails.

(You’d think being a princess would prevent Armin from ever coming into contact with these sorts of things. You’d think the King wouldn’t just look amused when he found out his only son and heir to the throne was sent by the Royal Sorceror to _wrestle goats_ for their _spit_. Evidently not, Armin thought a little resentfully, eyeing the part of his sleeve that the goat _tore off and_ _ate_.)

Armin said a silent prayer for the poor laundry-maid who would have to clean his dress. Or maybe he could save them the trouble and just cut the whole thing up for rags, since he’d purposely worn his tattiest linen dress to run Hanji’s errands. Though, they probably had no desire for rags that smelled like spleen of lamb–

Armin was startled out of his thoughts by Sorceror Hanji dramatically throwing a handful of powdered bat droppings (guess who’d done the pounding!) at Eren’s key as they cried out the last bit of the incantation. The key glowed red for a moment or two, and then returned to its original colour.

“All done,” Hanji said gleefully as they picked the key up. “The moment you put it on, you’ll be a dragon. I’ve also enchanted the cord to expand with your neck, so it doesn’t strangle you when you shift.”

Armin sighed. It had been disgusting and tedious, but it was done. He could almost _see_ his knight in shining armour, riding in on his pure white horse to rescue Armin from his prison. It would all be worth it in the end, he was sure of it.

“Thank you,” Armin said as genuinely as he could with slime dripping down his back, smiling weakly.

Hanji grinned. “No problem, kiddo. But, uh, the dragon isn’t going to be, ah, totally accurate. In the absence of an actual dragon to study, I’ve had to model some parts of the structure on other animals.”

Eren sighed heavily. “Can I _at least_ fly and breathe fire?”

“Oh yes, of course. But you might look–”

“Whatever, I don’t care,” said Eren bluntly, and left the room without another word, which Hanji was thankfully amused and not offended by. Armin thanked them again and quickly caught up to Eren, hoping to God that Captain Levi didn’t find them tracking slime all over the castle.

\--

The night of Armin’s eighteenth birthday came far too quickly. Sitting in his throne, Erwin couldn’t seem to stop sighing as he watched Armin dance half-heartedly with a number of nobles. He was making more of an effort than Erwin had expected, truthfully, but Erwin could see he was distracted. He hadn’t told Erwin exactly when he’d take off, but Erwin figured it would be soon. Right after the party? First thing in the morning?

“You seem troubled, Your Majesty,” came a low voice by his side, causing Erwin to start a little in surprise. “Worried about the kid?”

“Perceptive as always, Levi,” Erwin chuckled, feeling a little melancholy. “Do you think I’m making the right choice?”

Levi snorted. “He’d have done it anyway, with or without your consent,” he pointed out, blunt as usual. “It’s safer for him, this way.”

Erwin sighed yet again. “That’s what I thought.”

Suddenly, there was a flash of lightning and a loud roar from outside. The room filled with screams, and the crowd mostly backed away from the open doors leading to the balcony, where the sound of loud wingbeats could be heard, but Armin remained still, seemingly frozen in shock. Erwin started to get up, to pull Armin away, but Levi shook his head. At Erwin’s questioning glance, he nodded at Mikasa, who was watching, but making no effort to assist Armin.

The pieces fell into place easily, and Erwin sank back into his throne with a sigh. _Surely not_ , he thought, even as a huge red dragon came into view, hovering just above the balcony, and its tail darted into the room and wrapped around Armin quickly but gently. Armin, somewhat convincingly, screamed in supposed terror. The crows responded with gasps and screams of their own– one bold guest even tried to grab at Armin, as if to save him from the dragon’s grasp, but Eren was quick to pull Armin out of the room.

“HEAR ME!” Eren bellowed, his voice much deeper and more impressive than usual. “THIS HUMAN IS NOW MINE, AND IF YOU COME NEAR THE SOUTH-WEST CORNER OF THE KINGDOM THAT IS MY TERRITORY, I WILL _EAT_ _YOU_!”  Eren let out a very convincing evil cackle and flew off, powerful leathery wings carrying them away quickly, if somewhat unsteadily.

The crowd erupted into concerned chatter, and Erwin had to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Couldn’t Armin have at least told Erwin that he was planning to ditch his own party? Wasn’t that just polite?

Instead, Erwin stood up, commanding the attention of the entire room with a single motion. There was nothing to do now but play along.

“My people,” Erwin said, trying to sound sorrowful. “This dragon has stolen my only son away from me, and I will do anything to bring him home. Spread the word! The brave young hero who rescues my son and brings him home shall be rewarded handsomely, and will be considered a suitor of the princess!”

There was quite a bit of excited murmurs, and more than a few parents nudge their children enthusiastically. The seed was sown; all that was left was to wait and see what grew.

“That is all,” Erwin concluded. “I’m afraid I’ll have to cut this party short. Thank you very much for coming; the guards will show you out.”

The guests bowed and curtsied, and started filing out. Erwin sighed. “Here’s hoping,” he murmured to Levi, and left the room through a different exit, praying that Eren wouldn’t accidentally kill someone in his determination to defend Armin.


	2. Enter the Hero

**Two months later**

 

It was strange.

Normally, Kirschtein and Bodt’s One-Stop Shop for All Your Magical Needs saw two, maybe three cutomers a week. While they were the only magic shop within reasonable walking distance from the nearby village, the villagers’ fear of witches, along with the shop’s location some ways into the woods (because villagers were generally rather violent when afraid) stopped them from getting much business. Still, they did well enough; they mostly lived off the land anyway, what with Marco’s vegetable patch behind the cottage and the abundance of wildlife teeming in the woods. What little income they did make usually went to repairing or replacing various items – shoes, Marco’s favourite old stool, the door Jean accidentally broke in a fit of overenthusiastic spellcasting.

In the last three weeks alone, however, they’d made enough money to finally replace the old kettle Jean was genuinely concerned would poison them, what with the little flakes of rust that usually ended up in their water.

And that was the strange thing. Jean and Marco had been there for almost five years, and they had never before seen _three dozen_ strangers– travellers, all dressed similarly in shiny silver armour and an air of confidence– pass through the area within two months, let alone stop in at Kirschtein and Bodt’s to purchase various battle-spells. Fire wards, blade enhancements, 12-hour strength amulets; it was like these warriors were preparing to fight a war.

Kirschtein and Bodt’s had never run out of stock of anything before, but five days ago a group of tall and extremely intimidating individuals wiped the shop clean of their pest wards. A strange choice, since the rest of their purchases made it seem like they were about to fight some foul beast. “For the castle, once this is done,” a red-headed woman told Marco sheepishly as she counted out gold coins. “We have a lot of mice problems.”

(“Perhaps a cat,” Marco had suggested. “Cheaper and easier than buying these all the time.”

“I know,” she’d replied with a sigh, “but my lord is allergic.”

Marco’s eyes had literally twinkled as he put on his nicest smile. “Can I interest you in our Sniffles-B-Gone line…?”)

So that was why Jean was out here in the woods– they had to gather more ingredients to replenish their stock. One of the key ingredients in the pest wards was grodyroot, which, while disgusting enough to humans, most animals found absolutely revolting. Marco had most of the plants they needed for potions and the like growing behind the cottage, but grodyroot was known for infecting nearby plants with its nauseating taste, and Jean very much preferred sweet apples to grody ones, thanks very much.

Buchwald, his magical stick-horse, hopped alongside Jean, carrying the grodyroots in the enchanted bottomless pouch around its neck. (Real horses needed feeding, and a stable, and all sorts of other things. Buchwald fed on the pulp left behind when a potion was filtered, rested comfortably in any corner of the house, and most importantly didn’t need to shit. It was the perfect pet.) The grodyroots didn’t emit the foul stench until the skin of the tuber was broken, so Jean was careful as he put them away. His nose was pretty sensitive; Marco had to be the one to make up the pest wards, and Jean had to clear out of the house for at least half a day.

By sunset, Jean had gathered enough grodyroot to last them at least three months. The sky, when Jean looked up, looked pretty gray– it probably wouldn’t rain, but Jean should head back anyway. He had to get home and cook dinner– Marco was a terrible cook. “Alright, Buchwald,” Jean said, adjusting his pointy, wide-brimmed hat as he swung a leg over Buchwald. “Let’s go home.”

Buchwald whinnied its agreement and rose into the air, quickly bringing Jean up above the treetops and flying north. Good thing Buchwald’s sense of direction was perfect– though he’d never admit it, Jean would probably have gotten lost without Buchwald.

Trusting Buchwald to get them home safely, Jean looked around, taking in the scenery. No matter how many times he flew with Buchwald, he never tired of the sight. The sky, orange and pink and gray; the wind blowing Jean’s cape back dramatically, cooling his skin; the wide expanse of forest  beneath him, with only the little blue peak of the abandoned watchtower peeking out from the treetops.

Jean frowned. Was that… _smoke_ coming from the tower? With a quick order murmured to Buchwald, Jean zoomed off to check it out. It was white smoke, not terribly thick, but if something was on fire, it could spread to the whole forest!

What Jean found, however, was not a fire, but something much, much scarier. His mouth fell open in awe as he stared wide-eyed at the huge red dragon curled around the base of the tower, resting its head on its two front legs, looking remarkably like a napping dog. Smoke– or steam, perhaps?– puffed out of its nostrils as it breathed; that was what Jean had seen from the skies.

“Well,” Jean murmured, mostly to himself, “that explains all the knights.”

Buchwald nickered softly in agreement. Jean scrunched up his face in thought, trying to recall what little he knew about dragons. They were territorial and greedy, often keeping hoards of gold or other such valuables. The fairy tales liked to place young princes and princesses in the hoards, especially when towers like this were involved, but the thought was laughable. What would a dragon want with a human, apart from as a light snack?

Jean’s face grew pale. Did that mean…

Had this dragon eaten all three dozen of the armour-clad customers?

“Holy shit,” he breathed, heart pounding in fear. If Jean kept out of range, if he let the dragon be, it probably wouldn’t bother him. This in mind, Jean started to turn around–

“Wait!” cried a panicked, hushed voice. Jean whipped around to see a blond(e?) leaning out of the topmost window of the tower, arm outstretched towards Jean desperately. Well shit, thought Jean. He couldn’t just leave the poor– uh, _girl_ , Jean assumed, with a quick glance at her red velvet dress– the poor girl at the mercy of this huge dragon that was probably keeping her for dinner.

But what could he do if all those brave knights had been vanquished? Jean was just a witch, after all. He’d never been trained in any form of combat. Maybe she’d be better off waiting for the next knight to come along…

“Please,” the girl mouthed, wide blue eyes looking tearful. Buchwald whickered gently, turning its head to nudge at Jean’s knee imploringly. Jean sighed. Buchwald was right. Jean wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he just let this girl get eaten without even trying to help. He was an asshole, but he wasn’t a monster.

Quietly as possible, Jean guided Buchwald to the open window. “Hop on,” he whispered urgently to the girl, who nodded frantically and scrambled to climb out of the window. “Quick, before the dragon wake–”

A deafening roar sounded, so loud that the tower shook. The girl fell backwards into the tower; Buchwald spooked and instinctively backed away as Jean held on for dear life. “ANOTHER CHALLENGER?” boomed the dragon, rising to its full height as it sneered at Jean. “I HOPE YOU’RE MORE OF A CHALLENGE THAN THE OTHERS!”

The dragon breathed fire at Jean; yelping, Jean swerved out of the way, Buchwald whinnying loudly. “Shit,” Jean hissed, reaching into the bottomless pouch hanging from Buchwald’s neck. There was no way he could kill the beast, not when he knew nothing about it. But maybe…

Jean closed his eyes and threw a round-bottomed flask in the dragon’s general direction, releasing a thick cloud of sparkly pink smoke into the air when it broke. The dragon roared, blinded by the sparkles. Jean took advantage of the cover provided by the thick smoke and veering around to the tower window, hoping to get the girl out of there by the time the dragon recovered–

There was a vicious snarl, and then a stream of flame was headed straight for Jean, who swore loudly and just barely managed to dodge. Thank goodness he’d put an elemental ward on his cape, or it would definitely have been singed.

“YOU THINK YOU’RE CLEVER, DO YOU?” taunted the dragon, flapping its wings to blow the smoke away before lunging at Jean. Swearing, Jean swerved out of the way, thinking hard. He just didn’t have enough _information_.

Jean kept a wary eye on the dragon, trusting Buchwald to dodge its attacks as Jean started lobbing various potions and spells at the dragon to gauge its reaction. Nothing seemed to faze the dragon for longer than two seconds; if anything, it seemed even more annoyed and determined to squash Jean like a bug.

Jean hissed a curse, crushing a dark teal crystal against Buchwald’s neck to form a translucent bubble-shield around them right before a burst of flame melted it off. Damn it, his spells weren’t made to fight a _dragon_! There had to be something, some sort of pattern or weakness Jean could exploit. The dragon was big and fast, but at the end of the day it was basically just a huge lizard–

Jean’s eyes widened. It was a _lizard_. Of course. Lizards smelled things with their tongues, right?

“Hey, overgrown gecko!” Jean jeered, flying up above the dragon’s head. The dragon growled in annoyance, batting at Jean with its paws, but Buchwald expertly dodged, even blowing a horsey raspberry in the dragon’s eye as they swooped past. “What’s the matter, can’t catch me?” Jean mocked, flying higher up around the tower. “I thought dragons were supposed to be _scary_.”

The dragon looked infuriated by now. For all the tales of dragons’ wisdom and patience, this one had a terribly short temper. Jean had just barely started using his douchebag muscle and already the dragon was fuming. “YOU ARE THE MOST IRRITATING PERSON I HAVE EVER MET,” it snarled, climbing the tower to get closer to Jean, like it forgot it had wings. Maybe it had some problems with flying? Nevertheless, Jean wasn’t going to be the one to remind it of its powers of flight. That could complicate things.

Instead, Jean kept pulling faces and throwing out insults while Buchwald, probably noticing the tower-girl’s white-knuckled grip on the windowsill and expression of awe, started pulling more and more acrobatic tricks while dodging. (Jean didn’t mind– it wasn’t often there was a new audience for his coolness.) Buchwald dove down to the ground under the pretense of pulling another cool trick; quickly and subtly as possible, Jean pulled out a tiny pouch of powder and sprinkled it all around the base of the tower.

“You couldn’t hit me even if I was standing still,” Jean taunted to rile the dragon up even more, hoping to distract it while he uncorked another smokescreen flask. Unable to resist, Jean glanced over his shoulder to admire the look of absolute fury on the dragon’s face. Sometimes, Jean loved being a smug asshole.

“Look, I’ll prove it,” Jean called, and turned around to face the dragon, hovering in place. “Even when you have a clear target, you’ll miss!”

The dragon roared in frustration, then leapt off the tower at Jean in a way that reminded him of a cat. Immediately, Jean flung the flask right into the dragon’s eyes.

The dragon snarled, shaking its head and pawing at its eyes in pain. Its lunge at Jean missed; it fell instead on the thorns Jean had grown earlier (InstaThorns, for when you don’t want stray cats or excessively nosy neighbours wandering into your home!) and screeched in pain. Quickly, Buchwald swooped down as Jean grabbed a large handful of grodyroots, broke them all in half, and tossed the whole lot into the dragon’s open mouth.

The dragon rolled over onto a patch of non-thorned grass, coughing and choking and hacking. “WHAT… THE HELL… WAS THAT?!” it wheezed, face contorted into a terrible expression as it writhed around in agony, pawing at its tongue in sheer disgust.

“Grodyroot,” Jean replied casually. “Natural pest repellent. Smells terrible, doesn’t it?”

“Y-YOU…!” the dragon gasped, but was too busy gagging to continue. Jean grinned, smug, watching the dragon struggle, its great tail sweeping side-to-side . He’d won against a dragon. A _dragon_. Jean hadn’t even seen a dragon before today, and now he’d bested one. Jean was _awesome_.

That, of course, was the moment everything went wrong.

Jean felt like he saw everything in slow motion. The dragon’s tail smashed into the tower, knocking a whole section of it out. The tower started to fall, a great mass of bricks heading straight for the dragon. The girl was flung out of the tower window, screaming.

Jean swore violently, reaching into his pouch and pulling out a handful of dark teal crystals as Buchwald zoomed towards the falling girl. Buchwald let out a terrified neigh– afraid of flying into the falling debris. Shit, how was Jean going to get over there without his horse?!

No time to think twice. Reading Jean’s mind, Buchwald stopped suddenly and launched Jean off towards the girl. Heart racing, Jean flung most of the crystals at the dragon, then tackled the girl right out of the air. He barely managed to crush a crystal in his hand before they crashed into the dirt.

The ground was fast approaching. The crush of crystal in his hand– a bubble slowly starting to form around them–

They hit the dirt, and Jean blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i wrestled with the fight for _ages_. there's like 2000 words of other ways the fight could have gone my god)


	3. Horse-Drawn Pumpkin

When Armin first regained consciousness, he felt like he’d been sparring with Mikasa. Which, of course, was an entirely stupid thing to do, because Mikasa would easily kick his ass. Also, it was mostly his right side that ached, which was strange because why would Mikasa target his right side only?

“Hey, you okay?” asked a gruff voice. “Can you stand?”

Groggily, Armin blinked his eyes open to see a man in a wide-brimmed witch’s hat, stretching a gloved hand out to Armin as if to help him up. The man looked a little rough, scuffed up and tired and dirty, sinister looking in his black-and-teal outfit– but the sunset behind him illuminated him in a soft orange glow, somehow reminding Armin of a warm summer’s day.

 _That’s right_ , Armin thought to himself, still a little dazed. _This man… saved my life._

Armin must have been staring, because the man’s face twisted into something both grumpy and embarrassed. “You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to,” he grumbled, looking away, but kept his hand outstretched.

How cute.

Smiling, Armin took the hand gratefully, allowing the man to pull him to his feet. “Thanks,” he said, feeling a little shy. Suddenly, he remembered – “Eren?” he blurted out, panicked, hurrying over to the pile of rubble. Gods, he hoped Eren hadn’t been crushed!

The man frowned. “Eren?” he repeated.

“My best friend,” Armin continued without thinking, heaving a sigh of relief when he caught sight of the huge red Eren-dragon lying on the ground, somehow unharmed by the tower that had fallen on him.

“What, you mean the dragon?” the man scoffed as he came to Armin’s side. “That thing imprisoned you in a tower for months, and you just declared it your best friend?”

Armin stopped short. Stupid, he chided himself. How could he let such an important detail slip?!

“W-Well,” Armin began, thinking fast. “I-It’s not like Eren imprisoned me on purpose! It’s just, when he turned into a dragon–”

“Wait, wait,” the man interrupted, disbelief evident. “ _Turned into_ a dragon? Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve never heard of such a spell!”

“Royal Sorceror Hanji is the kingdom’s expert on dragons,” Armin continued. If he didn’t try to deviate too much from the truth, the story would be more believable. “Eren just got caught up in one of their experiments. I guess dragon instinct was too strong for him to bear…”

The man still looked like he didn’t quite believe Armin. “So you’re saying that there’s a _human_ in that thing?”

“Yes,” Armin replied confidently, because it was, after all, true. “You’re a witch, right? That chain around his neck, that key– can’t you feel its magic?”

The man narrowed his eyes at Armin, but carefully went over to Eren and held the key in his hands.

“You’re right,” the man said after a moment, eyes wide. “So, that means–!” Quick as a flash, the man drew what seemed to be a scrap of paper out of his waistband, wrapping it around Eren’s chain. Before Armin could ask what he was doing, the paper burst into white flame, melting the chain.

Amulet no longer around his neck, the dragon’s body started to steam, evaporating into the air within seconds, leaving the human Eren lying, unconscious, on the ground where the base of its neck had been.

“I need a drink,” the man groaned.

“Jean!” came a panicked shout from the woods. A dark-haired, freckled man, also wearing a witch’s hat, came zooming into the clearing on a broomstick, a flying stick horse in tow. Jean… was that the man’s name, then?

“Marco!” Jean(?) exclaimed, sounding surprised. He tried to say more, but the stick horse barrelled into him, neighing and nuzzling his face in obvious joy. “Hey, hey, Buchwald, settle down! Marco, what are you doing here?”

The freckled man (Marco?) smiled, looking relieved. “Buchwald came looking for me. It was really worried about you, Jean; what on earth did you do?!”

Jean sighed. “I’ll tell you about it back at the house,” he said, hoisting Eren up in a piggyback before swinging a leg over the stick horse (Buchwald, Armin had gathered). “The sun’s going down; let’s just get these two out of here before the wolves start their hunt.”

“Right,” Marco agreed. He smiled kindly at Armin, offering a hand to help Armin get on behind him, which Armin took, sitting sidesaddle a little awkwardly. He held on to Marco’s shoulders tentatively, only a little disappointed that it wasn’t his saviour Jean he was riding with.

Well, that hardly mattered. They’d be married once they made it back to the castle, anyway, and then they’d have the rest of their lives to spend with each other.

Armin had finally found his knight in shining armour.

\--

“E-Eh, so you’re the princess?!” Marco cried, eyes wide. “I-It’s such an honour to meet you, Your Highness!”

Armin smiled. “And you,” he replied politely, sipping at the mug of cider in his hands. “You two saved our lives. Thank you.”

He and Marco were sitting a wooden table, on somewhat rough-looking stools. To be honest, most of the furniture in the little cottage Jean and Marco shared seemed rather basic, designed for function with minimal thought to form. The fireplace in which Jean was cooking dinner was old, the brick starting to crumble– no doubt as witches, they used the fire far more often than regular folk. The bed they’d laid Eren in, deeper in the house, seemed sturdily made, but the quilt on top was faded, worn. The only thing in the house that looked entirely new was the kettle.

It was clear, however, that no expense had been spared for their craft. Cauldrons of various sizes were lined up against the wall, a ladle of its matching metal hanging from hooks on the wall above it. Pewter, bronze, iron– even one small silver pot, shining brightly like it had recently been polished. The cabinet of magic ingredients was the only thing with a lock on it, a sturdy iron padlock enchanted to respond only to a specific spell. These two were serious about magic.

“Ah, no, I really didn’t do anything,” Marco protested, laughing. “It was Jean here who did all the work, really.”

Armin’s smile turned bashful as his gaze flicked over to Jean, whose back was turned to them as he stirred a large pot of stew. Wearing a potato-sack apron, his huge hat hung up by the door, Jean seemed much less like the intimidating hero who’d saved Armin’s life and more like a real person.

“T-Thank you, Jean,” Armin somehow managed, sure his face was completely red, staring at the table awkwardly.

“S’fine,” Jean grunted back. “Just tell Royal Sorceror Hanji to be more careful with their experiments next time.”

“Y-Yeah.”

Marco huffed a little, looking faintly amused. “So that’s it, huh,” he murmured to himself.

Armin frowned. “What?”

“Ah, nothing. So, what’s the plan now, Your Highness? How are you getting back to the castle?”

“A-Ah, well, the King’s probably put out a reward for my rescue, so my,” Armin glanced nervously at Jean’s back, “my rescuer should take me back as proof, so they can claim their reward.”

“I see,” said Marco cheerfully. “Well, Jean, it might be a little tough without you, but–”

“Wait,” Jean interrupted suddenly, turning around to frown at Marco. “Who said anything about me taking the kid back to the castle?!”

Armin’s face fell. If Jean didn’t want to, then Armin couldn’t force him, even if he was perfect husband material. What a shame.

“Oh, come on, Jean,” Marco persuaded. “There’s a reward involved! You’ve seen the flyers, right? Princess, how much gold was there, again?”

“The standard sum is… a metric tonne, in bars and jewellery,” Armin recalled.

“See?” Marco continued, turning back to Jean. “Plus, the Princess here is the reason for our incredible business over the past two months, isn’t he? We owe it to him to make sure he gets home safely.”

Jean still wasn’t entirely convinced. “You can take him then,” he grumbled. “You’ve always wanted to meet the royal family, anyway.”

Marco was relentless. “Let’s be real, Jean, your scary face will drive all our customers away,” he said bluntly, still grinning cheerfully.

“My face isn’t scary!”

“Yes, it is! Princess, don’t you think Jean’s face is kinda scary?”

Armin blinked, properly looking at Jean’s face. A little long, perhaps, and a little fierce; but Jean was the kind of man who jumped headfirst in the way of a falling building to save not only Armin but the dragon he’d taken such pains to defeat. How could he be scary, knowing that?

“I think it’s quite a nice face,” Armin said without thinking. “A little rough, but… kind.”

There was a slight pause in which Jean turned his gaze on Armin, looking confused and embarrassed and something else Armin didn’t quite see because he was too busy looking away and wishing he could sink into the ground. Why did he say that?! How embarrassing!

“Well, it’s the _rough_ part I’m worried about,” Marco broke the tension easily. “You’ll terrify old Mrs Schmidt if you show up to do her monthly pest wards.”

“Mrs Schmidt could terrify the pests away all by herself,” Jean retorted, then stubbornly turned back to the pot, giving it a stir. “Fine, whatever, I’ll do it. Stew’s done, go wake lizard-boy up.”

Armin couldn’t help the elated grin that spread across his face. “Right!” he chirped, and tried not to bounce too much with excitement as he went.

\--

It was decided over stew that Jean, Armin and Eren would set off for the castle first thing in the morning.

So, of course, Eren was being hustled out of the window in the middle of the night by a terrifying, determined princess.

“This is a terrible idea,” Eren hissed at Armin, still half-asleep. “Why can’t I go back to the castle with you guys?!”

“What, you want to be there when I charm his pants off?” Armin retorted, tossing the enchanted key at Eren through the window.

Eren made a face as he caught and pocketed the key. “Gross,” he declared. “Be careful, Armin. See you back at the castle.” With that, he turned and disappeared into the forest.

Armin took a deep breath. With Eren out of the way, the week-long journey back to the castle would provide the perfect opportunity for Armin to secure his future husband’s affections. One week of travelling, sitting in close proximity in the carriage, sleeping next to (or at least near) each other. One week, and then Armin would finally, finally have his happily ever after.

He couldn’t wait.

\--

“So,” Jean began, looking at Armin over the top of the hastily scribbled note in his hand, “lizard-boy traipsed out into the woods in the middle of the night because he was so ashamed of his actions that he couldn’t bear to have you to have to look upon his traitor face?”

The princess smiled meekly, shrugging. “I don’t quite understand him, myself,” he said apologetically. “Even if he is my best friend.”

“I know what you mean,” Marco piped up, the cheeky bastard. Jean sent him a half-hearted glare, then turned back to the princess with a sigh.

“No helping it, I guess,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, princess, how comfortable are you on stick-horses?”

The princess shuffled nervously. “U-Uh, I’ve ridden horses before, but a _stick_ -horse–”

“Just try,” Jean urged. “It’ll be faster to fly. Maybe a five-day trip. Four, if Buchwald doesn’t mind flying through the night. You’ll be home in no time.”

The princess didn’t look quite as relieved by that news as Jean had expected him to be. He hesitantly approached one of the Buchwalds (the magical stick-horse could _clone_ itself, it was truly amazing) and sat sidesaddle. “Okay,” he said, voice shaking a little. “Now what?”

“Buchwald, carefully,” Jean coaxed softly, clicking his tongue. Buchwald rose into the air, smooth and gentle, but the princess looked terrified, gripping the wooden stick like it was a lifeline. Fair enough, Jean decided a moment later, when Buchwald moved a little too fast and the princess lost his balance, swinging upside down with a shriek and saving himself from falling to the ground solely because of the tight hold he’d had on the stick. “Um,” he squeaked fearfully, turning wide blue eyes on Jean. “Help.”

“Right,” Jean sighed. “Carriage it is.”

\--

Ten minutes later, a pumpkin-carriage stood before them, four Buchwalds harnessed to its front.

The princess seemed delighted, but Jean made a face. “Did we really not have anything else to make a carriage out of?” he grumbled, just because the whole thing was like something out of a clichéd story.

“Oh, just get going already,” Marco laughed. “I’m sure the princess is eager to get home.”

Jean rolled his eyes, but heaved his bottomless pouch onto the driver’s seat before moving to properly attach the Buchwalds’ reins. Marco politely helped the princess into the carriage, saying, “Safe journey, Your Highness. I’m glad I could help one of the royal family in his time of need.”

Jean couldn’t see the princess, but he could just imagine his bright smile. “Thank you, Marco. I won’t forget your kindness.”

With a little bow, Marco made his way over to Jean, next. “See you, Jean,” he said, pulling Jean into a hug. “Don’t get the princess killed!”

Jean snorted, patting Marco’s back a little harder than strictly necessary. “Don’t run us out of business,” he returned as they pulled away. “Don’t let customers haggle the price so far down! That Roth guy, you know he always–”

Marco rolled his eyes and gave Jean a light shove. “I can’t wait till I have the house to myself,” he said dryly, stepping back as Jean clambered into the driver’s seat. “Goodbye, and good riddance!”

“That’s my line!” Jean countered with a grin, and then, with a quick wave, they were off.  



	4. The Tsun Rises

The trip wasn’t going quite like Armin had planned.

It had been half a day already, but despite the little window between the carriage proper and the driver’s seat, Jean was stubbornly refusing to make conversation. Every attempt Armin made had fallen short, met with short one-word answers or sometimes even just grunts. Still, Armin was nothing if not tenacious. (Stubborn, Eren would say.) He would get his happily ever after if it was the last thing he did!

“So,” Armin tried again. “I’ve never seen a flying stick-horse before, let alone one that could be so easily cloned. I would have imagined it would’ve taken a great deal of magical power to grant Buchwald such a high degree of sentience. Did you come up with the enchantment yourself?”

“No,” Jean replied, for once sounding like he might say more than just that. Of course, magic was the thing to make him open up. Armin should have figured, his being a witch and all. “I actually found Buchwald being used as a chew toy by some wolves in the woods. It just started following me around by itself after I got it out of there.”

Armin smiled. “Jean, you’re actually quite a nice guy, aren’t you?” he observed happily. “Saving a stick-horse from wolves.”

“I’m not nice,” Jean snapped, sounding annoyed, but Armin could see the back of his neck flushing red. “I could sense it had really powerful magic, so I wanted to study it before the wolves destroyed it.”

Ah, he was embarrassed. “Well, you didn’t have to save me, either, but you risked your life to do that, anyway,” Armin pointed out mildly.

Jean spluttered. “T-The reward!” he declared firmly. “I only did it for the reward, okay?!”

 _You didn’t even know about the reward until last night,_ Armin wanted to say, but didn’t. “Okay,” he agreed amiably instead.

“Okay,” Jean huffed, neck still red.

 _Cute,_ Armin thought, and smiled to himself.

“What is your opinion on wands?” Armin asked casually.

“They’re ultimately visualisation tools for kids still learning, and no grown witch should ever use them,” was the blunt, heated reply.

Armin grinned, and opened his mouth to argue.

\--

After that, conversation flowed easier. Armin found that Jean, unlike Marco, didn’t respond too well to small talk about weather or politics, and in fact seemed to prefer when Armin got straight to the point. For Armin, who had spent much of his education learning how to charm foreign rulers into feeling comfortable using small talk, it was simultaneously jarring and a comfort not to have to bother with it. He could get Jean to trust him more while learning about magic beyond what he’d read and what Hanji had been able to explain to him; win-win.

After a good hour or so spent debating everything from the merits of magic circles drawn in chalk versus those drawn in blood (ease of cleaning versus greater spellpower, basically) to the effectiveness of speaking mantras while making potions, Armin gingerly asked, “So, how did you meet Marco? You seem really close.”

Jean let out a huff of air from his nose. “What, you finally tired of arguing about magic?” he teased, which for some reason made Armin’s heart tingle. “Marco and I apprenticed under the same witch, years ago. When we finished the apprenticeship, I started my own shop, but Marco went to try out for Royal Sorceror.”

Armin was shocked. Only the rich who could pay for higher education in magic ever got chosen as Royal Sorceror. All witches, looked down on as they were, would probably have gotten rejected regardless of skill. It was ridiculous, of course, and Armin’s father would never stand for it, but he couldn’t control what those under his command did at all times. As it was, choosing Hanji had been controversial for most of the court, since they were from a family of merchants, not one of noble blood.

“It went as well as you’d expect,” Jean continued, sounding a little bitter. “He came across my little shop on his way back from the castle, and _my_ shop became _our_ shop.”

Armin hummed thoughtfully. “Does he still want to become Royal Sorceror?”

“Who knows? For now, he seems happy with the shop, but…” Jean shrugged. “I think he’s accepted that they’ll never let a witch get so close to the king.”

“That’s sad,” Armin said quietly, staring out the window. “Father has been trying to eliminate the negative image the public has of witches, but it’s slow going, and he has other matters to address as well.” His hand tightened into a fist in his lap. “…I’m sorry, Jean.”

There was a short silence, filled only by the tapping of Buchwald’s stick-falls.

“Not your fault,” Jean said finally, voice gruff but gentle. “You’re trying. That’s enough.”

Simple words, simple sentiment, but they made Armin feel warm. “Thank you,” he said, so softly he wasn’t sure if Jean could hear him.

Jean’s nod in reply was tiny, but it made Armin happy nonetheless.

\--

A routine was quickly established over the next couple of days. Armin and Jean would chat for a while, about anything Armin could find that caught Jean’s interest. When they got tired, or exhausted the topic, Armin would read books he’d brought from Jean and Marco’s house. Mainly magic theory, but it was interesting to Armin all the same. When he read something he didn’t quite understand or wanted to discuss further, it was easy to bring it up to Jean, who sometimes needed to look at the book to understand what Armin was talking about, but more often than not had a pretty solid idea of what it was at his fingertips. Armin found himself thinking that it was a pity he’d been born to the working class. Jean would have excelled in proper schooling, with his quick mind and impressive memory.

At night, they would make camp. The first night, Jean had tried to do everything by himself, probably convinced that Armin wouldn’t be of any help, but changed his mind when the traps Armin set up caught them dinner for the next two nights. After that, they both hunted, then Armin would refill their waterskins while Jean cooked dinner. Armin would then sleep in the carriage, which had apparently been enchanted to be waterproof, while Jean slept in a small, one-person tent nearby. Armin had protested, saying that there was enough room in the carriage for the both of them, which was true, if they didn’t mind getting a little intimate (which Armin was actually quite alright with, to be honest), but Jean had just said, with a wry smile, “I’m a witch, remember? Anyone sees me in there with you, I’ll be dragged to the stake and burnt.”

Armin had flinched at Jean’s brutal honesty, but reluctantly let Jean disappear into the tent, Buchwald (who rejoined to become one when not pulling the carriage) hopping in behind him.

The first three days of the journey passed like this, with little incident.

The fourth day, however, was a little more… exciting.

\--

It was really Jean’s own fault. He hadn’t been paying attention, he’d let his mind wander. He should have seen the signs, should have noticed the too-quiet forest, the aura of anticipation in the air.

He’d just been going for a piss in the woods, but he still should’ve noticed nonetheless.

As it was, he was taken totally by surprise when the bandit leapt out of the bushes and grabbed Jean in a chokehold.

“Gimme all your money!” the bandit demanded.

“Don’t have any,” Jean gasped, scrabbling at the bandit’s arm that was choking him. “I’m a witch.”

The bandit snorted. “If you’re travelling, then you’re gonna have at least some fucking money,” he hissed, tightening the hold on Jean’s neck. “Stop playing dumb!”

Jean was actually beginning to see stars when suddenly there was a loud _thunk_ , and then the pressure on his neck loosened, and Jean gasped for lungfuls of sweet, sweet air. The bandit fell backwards, unconscious.

What the hell just happened?!

“You okay, Jean?” Armin’s voice came suddenly from behind him, worried but calm.

Jean coughed, massaging his throat gingerly as he turned to face Armin. “Fine,” he rasped out with a little difficulty. “What happened?”

Armin held up the red slipper in his hand. “I found the weight charms in your pouch,” he said, looking sheepish, “and applied it to my slipper. Sorry I touched your things without asking, it was very rude.”

Jean could only stare at Armin for a long moment.

“You,” he said finally, not sure if it was awe or incredulity in his tone, “knocked out the bandit with a slipper.”

Armin blinked, frowning. “Yes, with a weight charm added to it. Jean, are you sure you’re alright?”

Jean couldn’t help the near-hysterical chuckle that escaped him. “I’m fine,” he assured Armin. “Just… amazed.”

Armin flushed pink, but Jean was too busy shaking his head in awe to notice. He’d knocked the guy out with his slipper. Jean was wrong about nobles being soft; Princess Armin, at the very least, was tough as nails and twice as sharp.

“You saved my life,” Jean realised suddenly. “You saved my life with a _slipper_.”

“You saved mine with grodyroot,” Armin pointed out, sounding a little embarrassed.

“Thank you,” Jean continued, the realisation that _he’d nearly died_ suddenly coming over him. “Thank you, Armin.”

Armin’s voice was small, but pleased, and Jean realised with a shock that it was the first time he’d ever addressed Armin by name. “You’re welcome.”


	5. Free Food

It had been a long journey, but they’d finally made it. The week of travel seemed like it had taken only seconds– but also like it had spanned decades. Jean wasn’t sure what that meant, or how that could be, so he put the feeling aside as he pulled up to the great front gates of the castle.

Already there were several people waiting outside; King Erwin, Captain Levi, Royal Sorceror Hanji. “We’re here, Princess,” Jean said quietly as the carriage came to a complete halt, as if Armin needed to be told.

Armin, all bright eyes and excitement, burst out of the carriage and was immediately gathered into a hug by his father. “Welcome home, son,” said King Erwin, sounding more emotional than Jean had ever imagined the stern-faced man to be. “I’ve missed you.”

A beautiful black-haired woman hugged the life out of Armin next, squeezing him so hard Jean could almost see Armin’s eyes bulging out of his head. “I was so worried,” she said, voice quiet and shaky.

Jean almost expected Captain Levi to hug Armin, too, but the Captain just awkwardly clapped Armin on the shoulder, saying, “Hey, kid. Castle’s been pretty peaceful the past couple months. You been shitting okay?”

What?! What kind of welcome home speech was that?!?!

“He means it was lonely without you, and he was worried,” Royal Sorceror Hanji explained, grinning as they gave Armin a hug, too.

“Thank you, everyone,” Armin said, sounding overjoyed and relieved and peaceful. “I’m home.”

This only triggered a huge group hug, complete with an actually crying King Erwin, and yeah, this was making Jean feel like he was intruding on Armin’s family, so he busied himself with packing up: unhooking the Buchwalds from the carriage, turning the carriage back into a pumpkin, neatly putting everything away into the pouch. Forget the reward. Jean had saved Armin’s life, and Armin had saved his. They were even. Taking a reward now… it wouldn’t be right.

Jean had been planning to just slip away while Armin was distracted; no stupid mushy goodbyes, then. Even though they’d only known each other for such a short time, Jean had actually come to like Armin quite a bit. He was smart as a whip, had a good way with words, and could debate just about anything with Jean for ages. Maybe in another life, a life where Jean wasn’t a witch– maybe in that life, they could’ve been… friends.

No point dwelling on that. Jean swung a leg over the recombined Buchwald, rubbing its neck comfortingly as it nickered and bounced in Armin’s direction.

“No, Buchwald,” Jean told it quietly. “Let’s go home.”

Buchwald made a sad noise, but started to rise anyway, obedient as always–

Suddenly, there was an iron grip on Jean’s arm, yanking him off of Buchwald. Catching his balance and turning around fearfully, Jean met the dark, terrifying eyes of the beautiful woman from before. “Where are you going?” she demanded, sounding like she wanted to grind Jean’s bones into dust.

“U-Uh,” Jean squeaked, glancing at Armin, who was still conversing animatedly with everyone else. “Home? I-I don’t need the reward, Armin– I mean, the Princess– saved my life a couple days ago–”

“Unacceptable,” the woman declared firmly. “The wedding is in two months, you have to be here to plan it.”

Jean frowned. “What wedding?”

The woman looked at him as if he was an idiot. “Yours and Armin’s.”

Jean’s jaw dropped in horror. Buchwald, on the other hand, seemed delighted, neighing happily and starting to hop circles around Jean in excitement, which Jean would be more irritated about if he wasn’t so dumbfounded.

“What?!” he yelped eventually, gaping. Everyone turned to look at them then, but he was too busy freaking out to care. “Why– Who said anything about us _getting married_?!”

The woman looked like her patience was wearing thin. “Part of the reward for saving him. Did you not read the flyers? ‘Whosoever shall rescue the Princess will be considered one of his suitors, from which he will choose a husband within the year.’”

“Well, yeah, _considered_ ,” Jean repeated, sure the whole thing must’ve been some sort of joke. “Why would he choose _me_?! _Me,_ marry _him_?! Is he really so desperate–”

The grip on his arm tightened dangerously, and Jean choked on his words. “You’re talking about royalty,” the woman growled, eyes narrow and dark and terrifying. “Show some respect.”

“Jean,” came Armin’s quiet, calm voice, and Jean’s attention turned to him. He was smiling, soft and sad, looking pained but resigned. It made Jean’s heart twist. “Do you… hate me that much?”

“What?” Jean burst out incredulously. Where had Armin gotten that idea?! “No, it’s not that, I just– we literally met one week ago, _excuse me_ if I’m not ready to pledge my life to you.”

Armin looked more at ease, but was still wearing that stupid kicked puppy expression that just made Jean feel bad. Ugh, why was rejecting a marriage proposal so hard?!

King Erwin cleared his throat. “Let’s talk about the wedding later, then,” he said, eyeing his son worriedly. “Jean, is it? You must be weary from your journey. Why don’t you stay in the castle tonight? A great feast has been prepared to celebrate my son’s safe return and the brave young man who rescued him!”

The King clapped his hand on Jean’s back, and pretty much forcefully steered him into the castle. Jean couldn’t have protested if he’d wanted to.

Well, thought Jean. Free food was always a plus.

\--

Of all the things that Jean had expected of castle life, he hadn’t expected the bath to be the most impressive. Half an hour after Jean was shown to his room by a servant ( _his_ servant, good god), another servant came to inform him that a bath had been drawn for him. Jean had been surprised; he hadn’t quite thought about it, but of course the King would have private baths where commoners like Jean would have had to use the public baths.

The bathtub was a tall, wooden one, with a cloth draped tent-like over it, presumably to provide some privacy. When Jean stripped down and stepped in, he couldn’t help the contented sigh that escaped him as he sat on a soft sponge seat in the tub. The water was nice and hot, infused with chamomile. A servant approached him with a basin full of various other herbs, wielding a sponge as if to wash him, but Jean hastily insisted he could wash himself, thanks very much, and that they could go attend to any other duties they had.

They bowed to him, which was weird because Jean was more used to people throwing glares and rotten fruit at him, and left Jean to finish his bath in peace.

Jean couldn’t help wondering if all the nobles had servants wash their bodies for them. The thought of a servant scrubbing Captain Levi’s back for him was, admittedly, hilarious, but it was easy to imagine a servant gently massaging rose-soaps into Armin’s soft hair as he relaxed in the tub, eyes drifting closed in contentment.

That was probably what Armin was doing right now, Jean realised suddenly. It wasn’t a huge thing, but for some reason it made Jean stop short in the middle of scrubbing soap into his hair. Jean, a _witch_ , bathing at the same time, in the same way as His Royal Highness Princess Armin.

For just a moment, it made Jean feel like they were… equal.

The moment passed, and Jean shook himself, dunking his head under water to wash the soap out. He wasn’t Armin’s equal, and he never would be. That was why all this marriage business was absolutely ridiculous.

\--

The feast that night was like nothing Jean had ever seen before. Fresh, fine food was laid out on the table, accompanied by jugs of sweet wine. It seemed that nearly every noble had been invited to this grand celebration, and some were eyeing Jean enviously, for he had been seated near the King and directly next to Princess Armin.

The stares didn’t bother Jean too much, however, because he was too busy trying to understand the table manners of the rich. What was the point of having so many forks? And why had Jean been forced into this uncomfortable outfit?! The shirt and doublet were fine, if a bit rich for Jean’s taste, but Jean didn’t see why he couldn’t have been outfitted with some pants instead of skintight _hose_.

Otherwise, Jean was enjoying himself. After a while he grew (somewhat) used to the hose, and Armin, picking up on Jean’s confusion, made a point of demonstrating which cutlery to use for each course and other such mannerisms. (As upset as the Princess had seemed earlier, he was just as friendly and easy to talk to as ever at the feast, which Jean was grateful for.) Though Jean normally hated meeting new people, he had been seated between Armin, who he was fairly comfortable with (though, at first, the sight of him in that beautiful purple velvet dress had made Jean’s mouth go dry) and Royal Sorceror Hanji, with whom, as a fellow magic-user, there was a reliable topic of conversation.

There was the slightly irritating fact that Mikasa had been seated across from Jean, in between Captain Levi and lizard-boy what’s-his-face (Armin had mentioned his name before, Jean was sure, but he just couldn’t recall it). None of the three seemed particularly interested in joining conversation, though Captain Levi occasionally weighed in on some matter or other. Lizard-boy and Mikasa seemed more like they were sizing Jean up, watching and waiting for him to slip up. On one hand, it was unsettling, but on the other, it made Jean more determined not to make a mistake, just to spite them.

The King himself, at the head of the table with Armin on his left and Captain Levi at his right, was rather curious about Jean, but was perfectly friendly, unnervingly so for how cold-blooded he was known to be in times of war. “You must be quite strong to have defeated a dragon, even if it wasn’t a true one,” the King said conversationally at some point, taking a sip of wine. “It must have been quite the challenge.”

Mikasa scoffed, quiet but hostile.

“Something to say, Mikasa?” King Erwin asked pleasantly.

Mikasa looked up at Jean, gaze sharp and dangerous. “Yes, Your Majesty. While Mr Kirschtein may be strong enough to defeat a dragon,” she said coldly, “I doubt he will ever be able to best me in combat.”

Jean paled, because her words sounded like a threat, and she looked like she was very capable of killing Jean without breaking a sweat.

“Mikasa!” Armin admonished, but the King just laughed.

“Ah, I see you’ve gotten on Mikasa’s bad side,” King Erwin observed, sounding amused. “Be careful with her, Jean. The last time I made her angry,” he raised his stump, face going dark, “ _she cut off my arm_.”

Jean stared in horror from his grave expression, to his stump, then to Mikasa, who’d gone back to eating, straight-faced. W-Was that the reason…?!

“He’s just joking,” Armin assured Jean, with a reassuring smile. “Right, Dad? Mikasa?”

“Unfortunately,” Mikasa said dryly.

“That’s just what she wants you to think,” King Erwin told Jean solemnly. “She’s even convinced Armin, but I know the truth. _You_ believe me, don’t you, Jean?

“U-Uh,” Jean said nervously, not quite sure how to react. Was the King always this eccentric?

It was, surprisingly, Royal Sorceror Hanji that saved him.

“So, Jean,” they said, glasses going mysteriously reflective all of a sudden, “you went up against dragon-Eren, yes?”

Jean blinked. “Y-Yes, but w–”

“And you remember its strengths, weaknesses, attack patterns? How you defeated it? Whether it could fly?!”

“W-Well, yeah, but–”

Hanji took his hands in theirs. “Can you tell me? Please?!”

Jean was truly bewildered. Perhaps he wasn’t _saved_ after all. “S-Sure,” he said, turning to give Armin a confused look and got a helpless shrug in return. “Uh, but wouldn’t it be more useful to ask li– uh, I mean, the one who turned into a dragon himself?”

Hanji shook their head impatiently. “I’ve already got his side of the story,” they said. “Different sets of eyes notice different things. Plus, as a magician yourself, you might be able to assist me in perfecting the charm.”

Jean considered it. He had been planning to leave the castle in the morning…

“Probably better to get it under control so I don’t get kidnapped again,” Armin added, with a wry smile at Jean. “Otherwise you’ll have to come out and save me again.”

Lizard-boy snorted. Jean ignored him.

“Well?” Hanji asked, expression hopeful.

Jean sighed.

“I guess I can stay for a couple of weeks,” he conceded finally, and Hanji threw their hands up with a joyous cheer. Jean, however, was more focused on the bright, pleased grin on Armin’s face, and the warmth that was suddenly spreading in the middle of his chest.

…It must have been the wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i spent way too long researching medieval bathtubs.)


	6. Settling In

It didn’t take long for Jean to realise two things.

The first was that Hanji was absolutely batshit insane. He’d already kind of known that through hearsay, but it had been confirmed after the three hours they spent interrogating Jean on his fight with the dragon.

The second was that perfecting the shapeshifting spell was going to take much longer than just a couple of weeks.

“What about unicorn horn, do you think that would make the dragon claws harder?” Hanji asked, unfazed by the fact that they were caked in soot from head to toe.

Jean coughed. “I’m pretty sure there’s a rule somewhere about having to be pure of heart to use unicorn horn for magic,” he said, resigned to the fact that his lungs were probably going to be black for life thanks to Hanji’s insistence that adding more flame to the enchantment process would increase the dragon’s firepower.

Hanji hummed. “We’re rather short on supply of pure-hearted people,” they mused.

“The Princess?” Jean suggested without really thinking.

“Oh, no,” Hanji dismissed easily, a knowing twinkle in their eye that made Jean uncomfortable. “You wouldn’t think that kid was pure if you saw the way he cheats at chess.”

“He cheats at chess?” Jean repeated, somehow dumbfounded by this.

“Armin hates losing,” Hanji said, shaking their head. “He doesn’t call it cheating, he calls it being resourceful.”

“Huh,” said Jean.

Even princesses were sore losers sometimes. Who knew?

\--

Jean wasn’t exactly the tidiest person. His shop, before Marco came along, had been organised chaos. Left to his own devices, Jean could make such a mess in his room that there would only be a single haphazard path from the door to his bed. In fact, most mornings Jean was lazy enough that he couldn’t be bothered to make his bed. (That wasn’t a problem here in the castle– there were _servants_ to make the bed for him, which was extremely strange. He’d tried to tell them they didn’t have to, but the man he’d spoken to had looked appalled, and tidied up anyway.)

What Jean was trying to say was that he could tolerate mess, but Hanji took the word to a whole different level. Their study was truly a terrible sight. Books strewn all over, half of them open; herbs and other magical ingredients in little jars, stacked with no real order in a cupboard that looked worryingly unstable; the waste from previous enchantments and potions sitting in a growing heap in one corner, starting to smell.

And, of course, the thick layer of soot on everything in the room, including Jean and Hanji.

The worst thing was that Hanji didn’t seem bothered. They didn’t seem to mind leaving their study covered in soot, dusting only whatever was absolutely necessary.

Jean couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hanji,” he began, trying to maintain a polite tone. “When was the last time you cleaned your study?”

“Hmm?” Hanji hummed, not looking up from the thick black book they were scanning. (Jean was reasonably sure it had been green half an hour ago.) “One or two… months, I suppose? No, three.”

“ _Three_?!” Jean repeated incredulously, and stomped off to find his bottomless pouch.

“Don’t tell Levi!” Hanji called after him.

\--

Two hours later, Jean stood before the study triumphantly. His cleaning charm had worked brilliantly– the study was _spotless_.

All the books had neatly arranged themselves, by category, and then by author, in a set of bookcases Jean had fashioned out of firewood and a quick spell. The ingredients similarly leapt into the now-reinforced cupboard, arranging themselves with minimal bickering. The brooms and mops Jean had borrowed from the servants swept away the heap of waste, along with the soot, and disposed it all into the moat. The mops even hustled Hanji out of the way and into a bath, though Hanji didn’t seem to mind, and was more interested in figuring out how Jean had enchanted them than resisting.

Jean was feeling rather pleased with himself. The cleaning charm had only just been perfected, after much trial and error. They hadn’t even started stocking it in Kirschtein and Bodt’s, since it still needed a few more tests before Marco was ready to put the shop’s name on it. (Jean suspected it also had something to do with the fact that Marco hadn’t come up with a suitably stupid name yet.)

“What the hell are you hiding from me, shitty four-eyes?” came a disgruntled voice from the spiralling stairway leading to Hanji’s study. “Your study better not be a fucking mess ag–”

Captain Levi (because of course it was he) stopped short in the doorway, mouth slightly open in shock. Jean allowed himself a tiny moment of pride for having caught _Captain Levi_ off-guard.

“Hello, Levi,” greeted Hanji cheerfully, looking cleaner in their blue-and-green robes than Jean had ever seen them. Vaguely, Jean wondered when the last time they bathed was. He didn’t ask.

“Did you,” wow, Captain Levi sounded like he was actually choking on disbelief, “ _clean up_?”

“Oh, no,” Hanji dismissed, turning a page of the thick green book. “Jean here cast a cleaning spell–”

Levi’s eyes glinted, and he turned to Jean immediately. “A cleaning spell?” he repeated in a hushed, almost reverent tone.

Jean took a step back, startled by the intensity of Levi’s gaze. “Y-Yes,” he managed. “I, uh, intend to sell them in my shop–”

“How much?”

“U-Uh, well, they still need some testing–”

“Test them here, then,” Levi countered. “How much for every room in the castle?”

Jean’s jaw dropped open in shock, but he quickly shook himself and did a sum in his head. “Fifty gold pieces,” he said, expecting Levi to haggle.

To his surprise, the shorter man simply nodded. “I will send the money up to your rooms tonight.” He frowned at the surprise on Jean’s face. “You have a problem with that?”

“Ah, no,” Jean replied, shaking his head. “But it’ll take me a few days to make so many, and I’d need so many things…” Had he seen a pewter cauldron in Hanji’s study? He couldn’t recall. “And, I’m meant to be helping Hanji–”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hanji chimed in. “I’ve never seen a real witch do magic before, I’d quite like to watch. Help yourself to my things; I can put in an order if you need anything else.”

“Settled,” said Levi decisively, and left the room.

“Huh,” said Jean, staring at the empty doorway in shock. In five minutes, he’d made more money than he had in years of running the shop.

Guess he’d better write to Marco– it looked like he wasn’t going to be home for a while longer.

\--

“Jean!”

Jean turned to see Armin coming down the hallway, smiling cheerfully.

“Your Highness,” Jean greeted, like a peasant should.

Armin’s face faltered for a moment, which made Jean feel a little guilty, but he quickly covered it up with a bright grin. “I told you, just Armin is fine,” he chirped, like it didn’t bother him at all. “C’mon, I want to show you something.”

Without bothering to wait for a reply, Armin looped an arm around Jean’s and pulled him along the corridor, ignoring Jean’s (half-hearted) splutters of protest.

“Where are we going?” Jean demanded.

“The garden behind your house is spectacular,” Armin said, “but it’s quite… functional.”

Jean frowned. “We grow what we need to eat, if that’s what you mean,” he said slowly, not sure what Armin was getting at.

“What I mean is,” Armin replied patiently, “you barely grow any flowers. Which is such a shame, especially this time of year, when they’re all in bloom!”

“We have flowers, did you not see the huge apple tree?” Jean pointed out.

Armin rolled his eyes. “You don’t appreciate flowers for what they are,” he clarified as they came to a stop in front of a set of double doors. “I was hoping we could change that.”

Jean narrowed his eyes at Armin. “Where are we?” he asked suspiciously.

Armin grinned, and threw open the doors. “The royal gardens!”

Jean gaped. What lay before him seemed more like a park than a garden, with flowers of every colour imaginable. Beautiful purple hydrangeas, brightly coloured tulips, the gentle white lilies – even some species Jean had never heard of, all arranged in four neat quadrants, separated by marble walkways and well-kept hedges.

A white octagonal gazebo in the middle of the garden caught Jean’s eye, where a little basket of what seemed to be food sat on a table.

“I thought we might have lunch outside today, seeing as it’s such a nice day,” Armin supplied, following Jean’s gaze.

“You,” Jean croaked, staring at Armin in wonder, because Jean would love nothing more than to escape the castle walls and its stifling need for propriety. It had been only a few days since he’d started staying in the castle, but already he was tired of feeling like everything he did or said was being judged. How had Armin known?

“Me,” Armin agreed easily, already tugging Jean towards the gazebo. “Would you like to sit among the flowers?”

\--

Jean chose to sit at the far end of the garden, preferring more familiar flowers to the many impressive and exotic kinds nearer the castle. Armin gave him a peculiar smile that Jean couldn’t quite decipher, but settled down on the picnic blanket next to Jean with no protest.

“I hear Captain Levi’s got you working on something to clean the entire castle,” Armin said conversationally as Jean unpacked the picnic basket. Bread, cheese, jam, a bunch of grapes– much simpler than the usual castle fare, and much closer to a meal Jean would’ve had back home. Somehow, he knew Armin had to do with this, too. It was amazing how sharp the guy was, honestly.

“Nothing too taxing, I hope?” Armin prompted when Jean didn’t reply.

“Ah, no,” Jean replied hastily. “It’s just time-consuming, is all. Especially with Hanji hovering at my shoulder all day,” he added in a half-hearted grumble.

Armin laughed. “Is it interrupting your work with them?”

Jean shrugged as he pulled a wooden cylinder of some sort out of the basket, not quite sure what it was for. “They don’t seem to mind,” he said absently, examining the cylinder thoughtfully. “Not like the dragon thing is urgent anyway. We can take our time with it.” What was this blasted cylinder, and what was that rune on the top?!

Armin gently prised the cylinder from his hands, a little amused smile on his face. He pressed the rune with his index finger for a moment, then grasped the top of the cylinder and pulled.

Oh. The wooden cylinder was a container full of tea, and Armin had just pulled off its lid. The rune must have been one to seal the container properly. Feeling a little stupid (he was a _witch_ , damn it, how had he not recognised the rune?), Jean fished out two little cups from the basket and quietly watched as Armin poured.

“So, you’ll be staying with us a little longer, then?” Armin asked casually, intently focused on pouring the tea.

“I guess,” said Jean, eyeing the cheese hungrily but not sure if it was bad manners. Was there a thing about waiting for people of higher rank to eat first? Jean didn’t know, but it seemed reasonable.

“I see,” said Armin politely, but his lips were curved in a tiny pleased smile. “I’m sorry, I know you must be itching to head home.”

“Not really,” Jean said without thinking. “I mean, of course I miss home, but it’s nice here, too. The castle is warmer than I expected. More like a home, I guess.”

Armin raised an eyebrow.

“W-Well, yes, it _is_ your home,” Jean corrected himself, flushing, “I just meant… Everyone’s very friendly, even the King. It’s… nice.”

Armin was looking at him, soft and admiring.

It was doing strange things to Jean’s stomach (must have been the hunger), so Jean just laughed awkwardly.

“Anyway, might as well live in luxury while I’ve got the chance, right?” he joked. “Marco wouldn’t pick up after me if I paid him two gold pieces an hour.”

It was a shitty attempt at humour, but Armin chuckled anyway. His dress today, Jean noticed suddenly, was a soft butter yellow, perfect for spring. Had he known how perfectly it would match the yellow tulips behind him?

“Let’s eat,” Armin said, tearing off a piece of bread from the still-warm loaf. Watching him spread a huge amount of jam on the tiny piece and fumble to fit it all in his mouth without dripping anywhere, it was easy to forget that this was Crown Princess Armin, heir to the throne.

…Maybe, just for today, it would be okay to forget.

Jean smiled, and got started on his lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yellow tulips, as I'm told, mean "there's sunshine in your smile". Also I imagine the cleaning spell thing to look like a bath bomb. You break it open in the room you want cleaned, and the furniture in the room come alive and clean up after themselves. 
> 
> (Levi's eyes sparkle when he sees how good a job the spell does. Erwin, amused, wonders if Armin's got some competition.)


	7. fight!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i'm told this is the funniest chapter so far. brace yourselves.)

Jean, to his surprise, genuinely enjoyed the past few weeks at the castle. Working with Hanji, while perhaps not entirely safe, was rewarding. They were extremely intelligent, no matter how starry-eyed they went over dragons, and it was interesting to see how wizard magic worked. Sometimes Armin came to visit, and was remarkably able to keep up with the magical jargon Jean and Hanji threw about in their discussions, despite having little to no magical talent. Unsurprising, as Armin was pretty much _always_ reading something. The only time Jean ever saw Armin without a book in hand was at mealtimes.

Speaking of, lunch with Armin had quickly become a daily occurrence. Outside the castle walls, it was easier to breathe, and the weather was beautiful, all sunny skies and gentle breezes, perfect for a picnic. Armin was easy to talk to, and had great knowledge of just about everything. Jean found he liked listening to Armin tell him about mountains that spat fire, or animals with extremely long necks, or whatever fantastical thing Armin had ever heard a travelling bard describe. Jean was reasonably sure they were made-up, exaggerated for an audience’s listening pleasure, but Armin insisted they were real, that one day he’d go and see them.

It was one of those days, when Jean was lying, half-dozing, in the grass, and Armin’s voice was earnest and excited, telling Jean about an island of huge, fluffy rabbits.

“Hey,” Armin said after he was finished, in a softer voice. “What’s your favourite colour?”

Jean frowned. Why the sudden question? “Teal,” he answered anyway, too relaxed in the bask of the sun to care.

Armin hummed. “Mine’s yellow,” he said thoughtfully. “Yellow and teal… Not a very good combination, huh. I suppose if we go for softer colours… Would you mind if we used powder blue instead?”

What? Jean turned his head, opening his eyes to squint at Armin. “What are you talking about?”

“The colour scheme for the wedding.”

“What wedding?”

“Ours,” Armin said, and Jean spluttered and flailed as he somehow arranged his limbs into a sitting position.

“We’re not having a wedding!” he told Armin firmly when he regained the ability to speak, glaring. “Why– I told you that when I first came here!”

“Oh,” Armin said, voice tiny, refusing to meet Jean’s gaze. “Right, I just– I– I thought– oh.”

How had he come to that conclusion at all? Jean couldn’t understand this guy! And why was his stupid sad face making Jean feel so bad when it was obviously his own fault for misunderstanding?!

Making a noise of frustration, Jean stood and stomped back into the castle. His day was ruined– and it had been such a nice one, too!

\--

He worked off his anger by viciously pounding beetles. Hanji was impressed by his efficiency, and shamelessly made him pound everything. Their servant, Moblit, seemed relieved, probably because it meant that he wouldn’t have to do any pounding for the next week at least.

The strike of pestle against mortar was oddly cathartic, and the noise it made was probably the reason why Jean didn’t hear lizard-boy’s footsteps coming up the stairs until he was grabbed roughly by the back of his tunic and rammed into the wall. Mortar, pestle and ground beetles all fell to the floor with a clatter.

“The fuck?” Jean demanded.

“Bastard,” Eren hissed.

“My beetles!” Hanji cried, distraught.

“If I thought you had any honour I’d throw down the gauntlet right now,” Eren snarled, twisting his fingers in Jean’s hair painfully and shoving his face into the wall. “You don’t deserve him.”

They were the same words Jean had been saying to himself for weeks, but hearing them from someone else _stung_. “Fuck you,” Jean spat back for lack of anything better to say. “You ambush me while I’m doing work and dare preach to me about _honour_?”

“I can do worse if you like.”

“No bleeding on the magic circles,” Hanji snapped, just as Armin came panting into the room.

“Eren!” he cried, sounding panicked; and then, with much more concern, “Jean!”

“Stay out of this, Armin,” Eren warned.

“Let him go, Eren, you’re a _knight_ , for _fuck’s sake_ –”

“I’m defending you!” Eren argued. “It’s in the Knight’s Code–”

“Right, because assaulting a man when he’s not paying attention is honourable,” Armin snapped back sharply, stalking over to them and tugging at Eren’s hold on Jean. His efforts were largely ineffectual, but Jean appreciated it nonetheless.

“That’s what I said,” Jean couldn’t resist pointing out. He made a guess as to where Eren’s foot was and stomped, _hard_. Eren, swearing, released his grip just enough for Armin to pull Eren away so Jean could escape.

“You okay?” Armin asked worriedly, eyes on Jean’s left cheek, where the stone had scraped away at his skin.

“I’m fine,” said Jean and Eren simultaneously, and glared at one another.

“You asking for a fight?” Eren growled.

“Stop,” Armin hissed, but Jean snorted derisively. “Please. You’re not worth my time,” he said coolly, regarding Eren with disinterest. “I’ve beat you once, I’ll do it again.”

That was the last straw. Jean barely had time to brace himself before Eren was charging at him, roaring in rage, hand dipping into his pocket–

They crashed through the window in a shower of glass.

“What the fuck?!” Jean shrieked, because _what the fuck?!?!_

Eren didn’t reply, just moved to do something Jean couldn’t see – and then there was a flash of lightning and an ear-shattering roar. A huge red body started forming, leathery wingbeats filling the air. The little dickwad had transformed into a dragon.

“Cheater!” Jean shouted over the wind in his ears. He put his fingers in his mouth (trying not to think about the beetles he’d just been handling) and _whistled_.

Immediately, Buchwald crashed out of another window and zoomed to Jean’s rescue, catching him easily with a greeting nicker.

“Thanks, buddy,” Jean greeted, rubbing Buchwald’s neck soothingly. His magical bottomless pouch was attached to Buchwald, as he’d left it. _Good_ , Jean thought fiercely. Time to teach this lizard a lesson.

 

“YOU FUCKING BASTARDS!” Armin screamed, leaning out of the broken window. What the hell did they think they were doing, fighting in the middle of the courtyard?! “STOP!”

Neither of them heard, or cared. _Fucking idiots,_ Armin thought viciously.

“IF EITHER OF YOU DIE BEFORE I GET DOWN THERE I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!” Armin told them, and hurried down the spiral staircase.

“Perhaps you should repair the window?” Moblit suggested.

“No, no,” Hanji replied absently, parchment and quill at the ready as they observed the fight. “This allows for better visibility. Sweep it all up, please; I’ll repair it later.”

“Don’t you have a spell for that?”

Hanji didn’t answer. Moblit sighed and went to fetch a broom.

 

Jean leaned close to Buchwald, diving under Eren’s whip-like tail. With Buchwald under him, making sure they wouldn’t get knocked out of the sky, Jean was free to think. He didn’t have grodyroot or any similarly foul thing on him, and Eren knew that trick now, so that was out. Jean’s regular spells and charms didn’t work on him, either.

“Slow!” Jean jeered at Eren as Buchwald deftly avoided Eren’s attacks, trying to sound like as much of a douchebag as possible. Eren, as far as he could tell, was easily provoked, and an angry opponent was sloppy. “You just a little _baby dragon_? That why you can’t hit me?”

Even to himself, Jean sounded like a dick, so it was no surprise that Eren rose to the bait and snapped at him, snarling angrily. Luckily for Jean, Eren seemed reluctant to breathe fire for fear of roasting the rest of court. Unluckily, it meant that Jean had to be careful with his attacks, too, or a poor nobleman might accidentally be turned into a frog. (Not that the spell worked on Eren, anyway; Jean had tried it last time, and it hadn’t yielded any results. Probably because Hanji had used frogspawn in the transformation spell, now that Jean thought about it.)

With a frustrated huff, Jean bent low over Buchwald, urging it to go faster. He’d just have to buy some time to think.

 

Erwin sipped his tea, watching as Jean zoomed past on his stick-horse, dragon-Eren hot on his heels. He’d just been sitting out on the balcony as a little breather from work, seeing as it was such a nice day, when this commotion had started up.

“Should I stop them?” Levi asked quietly from where he was standing to Erwin’s right.

“Let them have their fun,” Erwin replied, feeling generous. Levi didn’t seem convinced, so he nodded at Hanji’s tower, where the boys had come bursting out of. “I’m sure Hanji will keep everyone from harm with their magic if things start to get out of hand.”

“Armin?” Levi pointed out. “He’ll be angry if we let witch-boy die out here.”

“Oh, Jean’s defeated dragon-Eren before, he’ll be fine,” Erwin dismissed, watching carefully as Jean swooped around Eren’s attacks, sometimes throwing up a teal bubble around him that Erwin assumed to be a shield. “I must admit, I’m curious to see how he did it.”

Levi snorted, but didn’t say anything. Erwin knew he was curious, too; Eren was one of the best knights in the kingdom, brave and fierce, if a little too hasty to act at times. Jean must have been quite something to best him.

“And anyway,” Erwin added, to seal the deal, “they’ll have to get it out of their systems at some point; better in the empty courtyard than in my newly-cleaned castle.”

That did it. Levi gave a short nod and fell silent, keen eyes already following Jean’s quick movements.

Erwin smiled, satisfied with the victory, and turned back to the battle.

 

Jean was still racking his brain for how to beat Eren without killing him or anyone else, because as much as Jean hated the guy, he wasn’t a murderer. And Mikasa would probably make sure Jean died a slow and painful death. And Armin would cry, which Jean didn’t think he could live with. Though it wouldn’t matter, since he’d be dead. So, you know, not an ideal situation.

Anyway, as it turned out, all those half-baked plans fell to shit when Eren, with an unexpectedly quick swipe of his claws, caught Buchwald right in the head, knocking it out of the sky and Jean along with it.

“Shit shit shit,” Jean hissed, desperately reaching into his magic pouch for something, anything that could help. If he fell out of the sky now, there was no way he’d be able to get back up to fight Eren. He’d have to stay up somehow.

Jean barely had time to look at what he’d grabbed– a few crystals, pink and teal, and a handful of wind charms– before he started moving. Forcing himself to keep calm, Jean threw the pink crystals at the spot on the ground he estimated they’d land on. Upon breaking, the crystals quickly expanded to form a huge cushion, pink and thick.

Immediately, Jean smashed the teal crystals against Buchwald’s neck, then hurled the stick-horse away towards the squishy pink shape and braced himself for impact, heart pounding in his ears.

Jean had originally designed these pink cushions to catch anything (furniture, ripe fruit, young children), but these prototypes hadn’t done quite what Jean intended. While they did, in fact, catch things rather well, they also tended to throw things back up. Out of the corner of Jean’s eye, he saw a teal-bubbled Buchwald bounce spectacularly off the cushion and fly somewhere beyond Jean’s range of sight.

No time to worry about that now; the moment Jean felt himself sink into the soft cushion, he ripped the wind charms in half and used it along with the bounce to propel him up into the air. The wind charms wouldn’t last, and Jean could feel the power running out already, but grit his teeth against the fear in his chest. Just a little more…!

Jean landed on Eren’s back none-too-gently, and grabbed onto the huge body for dear life. _Right_ , he thought to himself, clinging to Eren’s leathery skin. _Now_ _what?_

“GET OFF!” Eren demanded in a snarl, though it sounded more like the whine of a petulant child. He twisted around, swiping at his back, but Jean quickly clambered further up between Eren’s wings, where his claws couldn’t reach. He wished he could grab onto Eren’s spines for balance, but they looked sharp, and Jean had taken to wearing the clothes he’d been provided in the castle instead of his own, so he didn’t have his gloves on. (As much as he liked the loose-sleeved tunic they’d given him, mostly because it was made of some fine material that felt amazing on Jean’s skin, his travelling clothes had much more function. Plus, the cape would have looked _amazing_ when he was flying earlier.)

Just then, Jean noticed that it was no longer a metal chain that held Eren’s key around his neck, but a thick leather cord. Jean had melted some of the chain the last time they fought; Eren must not have gotten it fixed yet.

An idea struck Jean. He didn’t have to knock Eren out, which would be (nearly) impossible without his magic supplies– all he had to do was _get the amulet off_.

How to do so, Jean decided he’d figure out along the way, and started wiggling forwards on Eren’s neck. Since he was wearing shoes, Jean used Eren’s spines as footholds and leverage to push himself further forward. Much to his surprise, one of the spines dislodged when Jean put pressure on it, and Eren blew a stream of flame into the sky with a pained roar.

“THAT HURT, YOU LITTLE–” Eren continued to screech insults in his booming dragon-voice, but Jean’s attention had been drawn to the spine trapped between his foot and Eren’s back. The base of it, which had been hidden in Eren’s skin, was flat and smooth, not sharp like the rest of the spine was. A perfect handle.

Jean snatched it up and continued forwards just a little bit more. He grasped the leather cord and pressed it against Eren’s sharp spine, waiting for Eren to swoop lower to the ground before slicing through the cord easily.

Just like before, Eren’s dragon body went up in steam, and Jean could barely make out the vague shape of Eren’s body somewhere beneath him before they both splashed into the fountain in the middle of the courtyard.

 

“Quick thinking,” Erwin observed, eyeing the pink cushion-thing Jean had conjured. “Quick reflexes, too– he had _seconds_ to get that cushion in place.”

Levi’s eyes, however, were on the stick-horse, lodged in the grass at the far end of the courtyard. The teal bubble around it was thick and unyielding, likely the only reason it hadn’t shattered into a million pieces. “Seems your son chose well,” was all Levi said.

Erwin had to agree. The stick-horse was, after all, just a magical object. Others might have let it smash against the ground without a second thought; Jean had risked precious time ensuring his stick-horse would come to no harm. 

“Yes,” he said, smiling.

He turned his attention back to the steam-obscured fountain. As spectacular as that battle was, Erwin had a feeling that it wasn’t over.

He was right. The steam soon dissipated, and it was clear that the two boys, sopping wet, had decided to finish the fight by way of wrestling.

But– something was different. Erwin frowned at the two figures, blinking.

Levi snorted, evidently noticing the same thing Erwin had. Erwin felt a guffaw rising in his chest, but suppressed it, because kings were supposed to be dignified at all times.

“Has Eren always had that bald patch?” Erwin commented mildly instead, catching snippets of the boys hurling insults at each other.

“No,” Levi replied calmly. “Suits him. Shitty hairstyle for a shitty little brat.” He sounded like he was close to laughing as well. Not that anyone but Erwin and Hanji would have been able to notice. (Erwin had known Levi for over twenty years, and Hanji had made it their mission in life to decode Levi’s speech and body language for their first three years in court. Erwin was pretty sure they’d compiled a whole lexicon.)

Erwin chuckled. The spine Jean had pulled out of dragon-Eren must have translated to a chunk of human-Eren’s hair. Painful, perhaps, for him, but hilarious for everyone else.

A new voice joined the chaos, screaming obscenities more brutal and inventive than Erwin had imagined possible. Erwin blinked as its owner came into sight, storming out from the doorway beneath Erwin’s balcony and heading towards the fountain in an whirl of silk skirts.

“Where did Armin learn to swear like that?” Erwin mused, both impressed and horrified.

Levi coughed suspiciously.

Neither Eren nor Jean noticed the very angry princess stamping over to them. Jean shrieked something about “damned huge sleeves getting in the way” and proceeded to _yank his tunic off_ in one smooth motion. Eren, not to be outdone, removed his own tunic rather violently, and suddenly there were two half-naked boys wrestling in Erwin’s water fountain.

There was a little squeak. Armin had stopped short and was openly staring at the fight, most likely at the water flowing in trickles down Jean’s torso. (Erwin understood completely. He himself had a preference for musculature. Armin’s mother had had a brilliant eight-pack. Like father, like son.)

“Your Majesty,” said Mikasa’s quiet voice as she came forward to Erwin’s left, holding a sheaf of paper. “I have the Shiganshina repo–” She froze, taking in the commotion in the courtyard, apparently struck speechless.

“Yes, thank you,” said Erwin cheerfully, taking the papers from her before she dropped them in shock. “Has Shiganshina been having more problems with raiders?”

Mikasa still seemed shocked. “No, sir,” she said absently, eyes fixed on the wrestling boys as Eren performed a complicated manoeuvre and Jean fell into the water with a yelp. “Nothing Lord Hannes hasn’t been able to handle.”

Levi tsked, crossing his arms. “The brat is going to do twice the drills tomorrow, his form is _terrible_.”

“Was there anything else?” Erwin asked Mikasa politely.

Mikasa started. “Y-Yes, dinner is served. Roast venison.”

Erwin beamed. Venison was his favourite. “Right then,” he said, nodding at Levi. “If you please.”

Levi nodded back. “C’mon, kid,” he told Mikasa, then did a drop-roll off the balcony, because evidently taking the stairs was beneath him. Mikasa followed suit a moment later, as if she was used to jumping off balconies after her uncle. Which, if Erwin thought about it, she probably was.

Erwin himself made his way down the stairs, because he was a regular human being, and couldn’t properly execute a drop roll with only one arm. “The siren call of muscle is difficult to resist,” he said solemnly to Armin when he reached his son, patting his shoulder comfortingly. “You take after me in that respect.”

Armin turned to him in horror, speechless.

Erwin smiled sympathetically. “I understand, son,” he assured him. “I understand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the number of chapters just keeps going up i can't estimate very well apparently
> 
> i swear it's nearly done, i swear, i have it all planned out. i'll be taking a break from writing till my exams are over though, so i prob won't have any more updates till end june-july. sorry!
> 
> also. if you're wondering about eren's chain thing. it's a thing in this universe that jewellery is enchanted to fit the wearer perfectly. metal is harder to enchant than leather, though, so probably it's taking a while for eren to get it back.

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed, come show me some love on my tumblr! next chapter will be up in a day or two :)


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